Posts Written by Jennifer

By now, you have probably seen the headlines: Wade Robson has accused Michael Jackson of molesting him when he was a kid. Robson, now 30 years old, alleges that he was sexually abused by Jackson for seven years, from ages 7–14, and though he never repressed the memory of the abuse, he didn’t understand that it was abuse until he was an adult—until he had a son and subsequently suffered two nervous breakdowns.

Robson, a dancer originally from Australia, has had a relatively lucrative career since childhood and now works as a choreographer. It’s safe to say his friendship with megastar Jackson had quite a bit to do with that, though I don’t think anyone would hire him at this point if he wasn’t actually talented. When Jackson was brought to trial for sexual abuse in 2005, Robson defended him on the stand, saying the singer had never had inappropriate contact with him. Robson’s mother testified as well, telling the court that she absolutely trusted Jackson to sleep in a bed with her son, that she never had a moment’s hesitation over it. Back in 1993, when another boy accused Jackson of molesting him and witnesses came forward to say they’d seen Jackson molesting Wade, too, Robson denied it.

Now, the internet is aflame with people accusing Robson of lying, saying he just wants money from the estate of a dead man—and those posting in his defense, trying to explain victim psychology. People say ...

Deep in my youth—and in college, in the ‘90s, during the Grunge era—I was an Oshkosk B’Gosh girl. This is because, when I was 9, I thought I was Tom Sawyer. I wasn’t Huck Finn because I had people I lived with who basically took care of me, but I was still an orphan in my imagination. And a boy. I also thought I was Oliver Twist. I spent a lot of time sneaking into the Forest Preserve down the street from my house and getting muddy in the creek, even though I was forbidden to play in the Forest Preserve because my parents believed that pedophile derelicts lived in the trees or under a bridge somewhere, like trolls. It ...

Deep in my youth—and in college, in the ‘90s, during the Grunge era—I was an Oshkosk B’Gosh girl. This is because, when I was 9, I thought I was Tom Sawyer. I wasn’t Huck Finn because I ...

“You have an opinion on everything. You have something to say about everything,” an old roommate, who I’ll call Deadhead, said to me as I stood over where he sat on the couch, with my house-keys in my hand and my arm raised.

His voice was calm and taunting. I was furious. I struck him once, twice, three times on the forehead—not hard enough to really hurt him, but enough to cause him pain. I’d already thrown his Pelican Shakespeare anthology at him when we were both standing, hitting him in the back. I hadn’t thrown it with much force, afraid even through ...

“You have an opinion on everything. You have something to say about everything,” an old roommate, who I’ll call Deadhead, said to me as I stood over where he sat on the couch, with my house-keys in ...

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